I'm Still Here
by inkstainedsword
Summary: Clara's best friend died in a train crash. It seems as if her life is coming to an end, as if she didn't already have enough to worry about. That is, until, she received a letter the day after the crash. Rated T becuase of Pevensies death.
1. Worst Day Ever

Disclaimer-I DO NOT OWN NARNIA! If I did why would I need to write fan fiction? Huh? That's what I thought. I also do not own Edmund(wahhh!). But I do own Clara Nightshade

I HAVE NOT READ THE BOOKS! However, I have read the wikipedia article that covers all the books. I have also seen both movies (the first was okay, but the second was AMAZING! My, my, Skandar Keynes has grown up.)

From the moment she woke up, Clara Nightshade could tell that it was not going to be a good day for her. She could tell so soon because she woke up at four in the morning and the power was out. Instead of the soothing sounds of her noise machine/alarm clock (which was supposed to wake her up at eight) it was her fire alarm that was blaring. Clara tumbled out of her bed. She hit the floor with a loud smack that shook the paper-thin floors. While she was on the floor, she pressed her ear against the floor. No fire alarm in that room. Just snoring. _Why is it only my room?_ If Clara Nightshade had been a divine intuition or alternate universes major she might have realized that these somewhat unfortunate events were just a slight warning to what would follow. And I am not referring to the fact that the fire protection sprinklers started spitting down icy water on her pajama-clad body. Clara had gone shopping last night, as it was Monday today, and had bought a beautiful new pair of jeans that had dropped a bomb on 3 months of paychecks. They were now soaking wet, thus totally unfit to wear for her oral report. It was very important for Clara to feel very secure when doing an oral report; she had a tendency to puke when attempting public speaking. Her friend Gina had told her to wear clothes that made her feel beautiful so she wouldn't feel so insecure. Well, Gina was heading off somewhere on a train currently, and Clara was in a two-person room with only one person, a soaking pair of zillion-dollar jeans, and a supremely miffed gerbil. A **very** supremely miffed gerbil. With pointy teeth.

When Clara showed up for her class at 9:15 she learned something very important immediately. She was not 15 minutes late, she was two hours and 15 minutes late. And her class had ended 15 minutes ago. The class had unfortunately been held late so they all got to see Clara walk into class wearing sopping wet jeans and three t-shirts layered over each other. They were so wet it was all she could do to keep them from being see-through. Her professor wouldn't let her (or any one else in her class) leave until she gave her oral report and answered some questions she hadn't leaned the answers to yet. Her class was extraordinarily mad at her for making them all late or wasting their time. And, naturally, Clara arrived thirty-two minutes and 6.5 seconds late for her next class.

The rest of her day continued very much like the beginning. Bad things making other bad things happen. Such as how her lunch money had ripped because it had been wet so she had to go to the off-campus coffee shop. By the time she finally got through the traffic she was already three minutes late for her next class. She ordered her favorite hot coffee in the biggest cup she could afford with the money that had not been ripped to badly. As she was leaving the shop an overweight man holding three brownies on a napkin bumped into her. The brownies squished up on her shirt and the coffee splashed up into her face.

During her last class of the day (8:00-10:00) she fell asleep. She had not gotten enough rest that night because after she woke up (via fire-alarm) she had tried to use a battery powered hair dryer to speed the drying process of her room. Her teacher had made her stay late. By the time Clara finally got home (11:23) she was almost sure _something _was trying to keep her from getting home on time. She went up to her room to turn on her TV. Days like that one made Clara want to watch the news. It always cheered her up; it showed someone having an even worse day then her. When she tried to turn on her TV she was reminded of something very important. The power was out. She slumped down to the lounge. It was empty except for a couple that didn't look old enough to be in college sitting on a chair obviously made for one person only. Clara turned the lounge TV set onto the 12 o'clock news.

…_deaths are uncertain, but so far there are at least six. Many are severely wounded…_

Clara read the little white words running along the bottom of the screen. _Train crash early this morning kills children_. Clara gave a weak, half-hearted smile. _At least_, she thought_ someone else is having a bad day to._

…_lend our sincerest condolences to the friend sand families of the dead. Three of which were just children. With great remorse…_

He didn't look remorseful at all.

_We are sorry to say that Lucy, Edmund and Peter Pevensie died in the crash. All of them were very young, fortunately, their sister, Susan Pevensie survived with only a few minor injuries to the head and torso._

For a moment or two Clara kept sitting, after her awful day her brain wasn't working as fast as it could. It took a few moments for her to realize what she had just heard. After exactly 3 minutes and four seconds Clara registered what she had just heard. It took her about an eight of a second to cry out every single tear she could possibly cry. Then she chugged her entire water bottle (which had been completely full) and cried some more. It hit her like, like it must have hit the poor Pevensies. Like a train. Somehow, the tears started burning like boiling water. Scalding her face and dripping down onto her clothes. The tears came faster and faster. After what might have been hours and might have been minutes, Clara was just to sad to cry. She was to sad to move. Clara's brain wasn't even working. Her day was even worse then she could have possibly imagined. Only one thought could fight its way through the barriers she was forcing up to keep out the events of the day. _My best friend is dead. Edmund is dead._

Sorry, but the plot really requires me to choose this particular part of the story.


	2. The Ghosts Letter

Disclaimer-I DO NOT OWN NARNIA

DISCLAIMER-Why must you rub it in that I still don't own Narnia. Or anything vaguely Narnia related?

This is NOT supposed to be set in the 40's-50's. It is set in the present, it is also set in America. Sorry for any confusion.

Sorry it took me so long, I have been a very busy girl lately!

One of my five best friends is a boy and this is the kind of stuff we do together, so it is realistic for her to remember doing this stuff.

You may find it quite surprising that Clara's best friend was boy. To tell you the truth, she found it surprising to. But there was something about Edmund. He was clever and quick witted he was funny and caring. He had always been there for him. Except for now, when she needed him the most. When Clara had cried out all of her tears the sun had shrunken and was beginning to swell up again on the horizon. She had gotten even less sleep then the night before. She was still in the lounge. Soon, Clara's sadness was replaced by something that felt like a Wild-West-Movie cactus growing inside her stomach. She started pummeling the pillow on the lounge couch. _Why did you go and get yourself killed like that? What were you thinking? What about me?_ Anger pulsed through her veins like magma, just burning to be released from its volcanic prison. The pillow was already losing a lot of volume. The cactus seemed to deflate pretty fast to. Her mind scattered of to all those things that she and Edmund would never do again. He would never try to talk to her about those cute guys in her Math minor class. She would never paint his nails while he was sleeping again. They would never go bowling again; she would never 'accidentally' drop Bowling balls on his toes when he was beating her. They would never attempt to help each other pick out outfits for dates. Her roommate would never flip every time Edmund walked into their apartment again. Clara would never laugh at her other friends talking about Edmund's hair and his eyes and his clothes (that Clara probably helped buy anyway) and his hands and his voice. She would never get to bury her face into his shoulder and cry her heart out about stupid things. Stupid things that were nothing compared to this. He would never tell her that he only felt comfortable with her ever again. That she was the only one who saw through him right away. Clara even knew she would miss their fights. The days when she would go through her notebooks ripping up the little notes he had written her. When they would avoid each other for days. She knew she was going to miss him so much.

Clara finally managed to rip herself off the couch. She pulled herself up to her room and collapsed onto her bed. She felt like she was going to be sick. Her roommate, Gina, wasn't back yet. Clara settled uneasily under her mountain of blankets. She tried to sleep but she couldn't bring herself to. She lay awake in her bed for hours. Trying to convince her self that this was just a horrible dream. She would wake up tomorrow and Edmund would be waiting outside her door so they could go and get breakfast together. Gina would never have left. Everything would be exactly the way it should be. Exactly the way it wasn't now. Clara glanced at her wristwatch. She was late to her Business class. Even though it was her major she didn't care. Even though she had arrived over two hours late for Business yesterday Clara knew she would not be able to get out of her bed. She grabbed her phone and started punching in numbers. She was going to have to call in sick.

Clara pulled her head of the pillow. It was soaking wet with salty tears. Clara didn't know she could cry so much. She heard a knock on the door, then a click and then the door swung open. Gina dashed in with a suitcase rolling behind her.

"Oh, Clara! What's wrong?" she shrieked when she saw Clara's face. The whites of her eyes were red and her entire face was flushed a splotchy pink. Clara frowned and burrowed her head back into the pillow.

"This isn't about the boy…Edmund, right?" Gina asked. Clara looked up at her, her eyes wet and shiny.

"He died." Clara said quickly. Saying it out loud felt like ripping off a bandage that hasn't lost its stick yet. It hurts, but it you go slower it hurts more. Gina's face went white.

"I am so sorry." Gina choked. She hadn't known Edmund very well, but she had known him a bit. Anyone who knew Edmund was going to miss him. For a minute or two Gina sat silently on the edge of Clara's bed. Neither of them knew what to say. Clara was finally to sad for tears. She had finally realized that Edmund was gone. He hadn't just gone a trip. He was dead, and he was never coming back. It locked into her head, pinching the back of her eyes and pulling the skin of her scalp tighter across her skull.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, this came for you." Gina pulled out a crisp white envelope. Her name and address were written in magazine clipped letters. Gina stood up slowly and left. Clara tore open the letter, inside was a note that looked like it had been written rather hastily. She recognized the handwriting though. _I just got a letter from my dead best friend._


End file.
